


Ghost Story

by likesflowers



Category: Antman & the Wasp, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5 Times, Action/Adventure, F/M, Pre-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Quantum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 07:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15190004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likesflowers/pseuds/likesflowers
Summary: The Ghost and the Winter Soldier worked five missions together, before SHIELD and Hydra collapsed.





	Ghost Story

 

**1.**   


 

The first mission, he only saw her through the scope of a rife.

 

The Soldier had been told his role was secondary sniper support for another operative. It was unusual--he was not typically assigned a secondary position for anything, given the resources devoted to his care and maintenance--but something in the rifle in his hands, the task of watching someone else’s back through a scope, felt like an echo, more muscle memory than brain. 

 

Once he got to the site, of course, he understood why he’d been assigned--he was the only operative he knew who would have been able to access the sniper perch, given its secure location, without drawing significant attention. So he got into position and waited.

 

And waited.

 

Eventually, the target walked out of the door, team of security guards effectively blocking shots from all sides, including the Soldier’s location. He could have made the shot through the guard’s body, but he had been ordered to stand as secondary support, so he waited. Suddenly, a white figure came around the corner behind them and reached  _ through _ the guard to grab the target’s head in both hands. There was a sharp turn, a snap audible only because of the Soldier’s enhanced hearing, and then he wasn’t sure exactly what happened because the limited view of the rifle scope and the security guards all moving rapidly as chaos erupted. It had looked like the operative had disappeared, but a sudden flash of white and sharp movement would immediately precede one of the guards taking a punch to the face or falling over. 

 

The Soldier counted; in six seconds, all five security guards were down, three unconscious, and the target was lying motionless where he had dropped.

 

The other operative, now visible, knelt next to the target, presumably to confirm the kill. It was only because the Soldier was keeping an eye on it that he saw one of the guards shakily pull a gun from an ankle holster and bring it up towards the operative’s back.

 

The two gunshots went off so closely together their echoes blurred into one. 

 

The operative faded and spun. The guard’s hand that was holding the gun fell sloppily into the pool of blood and brain matter that had splattered in an impressive radius.

 

The operative didn’t look at the building where the sniper perch was located, although it had almost certainly been in the briefing packet, but there was a slight nod, as if in thanks, before fading again and vanishing.

 

The Soldier felt an odd surge of emotion--fond irritation, maybe--that he recognized from a sporadic few missions previously. He would let the technicians know when he returned to base that the last treatment had had side effects, again. Even though he knew rationally that it was just a fault in the process, a bug in the system of his brain, every time, he felt like this particular side effect originated in his spleen.

 

\------------

  **2.**

 

The second mission, they talk. 

 

They’re going in together, this time; a high-profile target who has an enhanced bodyguard in addition to the standard guards. The Soldier will dispatch the human and enhanced guards, while his associate will take out the main target. The Soldier wants to bristle a little--he considers himself more than capable of handling a simple mission like this--but he had seen a portion of his file that describes his involvement in training activities in the past, and he assumes this is in a similar vein. He is told he will need to provide an assessment of the other operative’s skills during the debrief, confirming this theory.

 

He’s told the target is the leader of a rogue arm of Hydra and needs to be eliminated before he can sacrifice Hydra’s secrecy for a power grab. He’s not sure what the Ghost is told, because the Ghost is already waiting on the jet for him, dressed head to toe in white and flickering in and out of reality while sitting quietly in the corner.

 

Five minutes to the site, the Soldier stands and arranges his gear, connecting the harness so he can be lowered directly to the roof from the jet. He could jump without sustaining injury, but not without sacrificing stealth.

 

The Ghost does not attach a harness. 

 

“Why are you not ready for the drop?” the Soldier asks harshly.

 

The masked head tilts to the left; an alien voice answers. It would have sent chills up his spine if he could process an emotion like that. “Harnesses are unnecessary when the fabric of reality bends in your hand.”

 

That was not a satisfactory answer, the Soldier felt. He quirked an eyebrow and gave the Ghost the cold, disappointed look that normally had technicians trembling. 

 

A moment of staring contest--insofar as two masked individuals can have a staring contest--and then a short, alien laugh echoes in the cabin as the Ghost flickers and disappears right through the floor of the jet.

 

The Soldier swears, then goes out the jet the normal way, through the hatch.

 

They reunite on the rooftop, the Soldier quickly disengaging the harness and the jet swooping off immediately. The Ghost is already waiting by the door to the stairs. The Soldier, already in mission mode, gives a single short nod and opens the door, going first with his gun ready. The Ghost follows behind him, swift and furious as the winds of hell.

 

The schematics were accurate; they burst into the room where the target is eating, several guards at the doorway and one standing behind him, presumably the enhanced. The guards at the front are dispatched in seconds, three by his bullets and two by the Ghost. The Soldier immediately points his gun towards the enhanced guard, who is now standing in front of the primary target. His uniform bears the Hydra logo. The Soldier shoots, aiming straight for the forehead.

 

The tone of the ping as the bullet ricochets right back off the enhanced guard’s skin sets off echoes in the back of the Soldier’s brain, but now is not the time to deal with them. He understands now what type of enhancement this guard has. He doubts a blade will do much better, and strides forward and engages with a left hook with his metal arm. 

 

The guard turns his head with the punch, but there is no snap or blood splatter like that punch typically results in. The Soldier feints and the guard follows--not particularly trained in tactics, then, just relies on brute indestructibility. Behind his mask, the Soldier smiles. Piece of cake.

 

He and the guard grapple as the Ghost moves around to the side, materializing right in front of the man, arms extended, a blade ready. The man shrieks and gurgles as the blade slides between his ribs; the Soldier can see the action over the guard’s shoulder and finds himself impressed with the way the anger from earlier was focused into a single, unhesitating blow.

 

The man clearly had only minutes to live, but he managed to get a shot off from the pistol in his hand. It went wide, shattering a vase.

 

The guard turned away from the Soldier to see what was happening and the Soldier took advantage of his shock to crush his neck with a blow from the metal arm. 

 

Well, it would have crushed a normal human’s neck. For this enhanced, it rang, metal striking metal, and the guard was pushed forward. The sensors in the Soldier’s arm dinged a warning about possible damage from the impact. 

 

The Ghost looked up at the guard who was now within striking distance, and struck. A slight cry let the Soldier know that the Ghost also found impact with this guard physically painful. 

 

The Soldier evaluated their options, rapidly. No guns, no blades, no blows. Removal from the environment is the optimal solution. He moves his chin towards the window, assuming the Ghost has enough tactical training to fill in the blanks.

 

Another shot echoes in the room, and this time the alien cry is accompanied with a sliver of red that appears on the Ghost’s right shoulder. Apparently the primary target was not dead enough yet. 

 

The Soldier grabbed the guard in a neckhold in attempted to drag him back toward the window. It was only partially successful, but it gave the Ghost the time needed to flicker in and out and deliver a sharp blow to the primary target’s head. The Ghost moved back towards where the Soldier and the guard were fighting. It was flickering in and out far more than before. The Soldier wondered if it was intentional.

 

The Ghost moved next to the Soldier, between the guard’s back and the window, and took what sounded like a deep breath. Then the Soldier found himself flying backwards--had the Ghost shoved him? 

 

That must be what happened, because now the Soldier was on the ground, the guard spinning around to face the Ghost, white suit a grey outline against the light outside the window. “Come on,” said the alien voice.

 

The guard lunged. The Ghost flickered and he passed right through, face almost hitting the window. The Ghost resolidified immediately and gave the man a sharp shove, which when combined with his momentum, was enough to break the glass and send him hurtling through, down to the ground twenty stories below.

 

Based on the injuries from the Soldier that the guard had survived, he will probably survive the fall as well, but he was not a primary target; their only goal was to remove him from the situation in order to make it possible to complete their mission.

 

The Soldier’s mind briefly flashed with the shockingly vivid image of the man plummeting through the air, white all around him and the icy wind drowning out the click-clack sounds from above. He buried that thought quickly, immediately. It had no place on this mission, on a steel skyscraper in a desert nation at midday. 

 

The Ghost was leaning against the wall, phasing in and out like a runner’s heartbeat. The Soldier stood. “Status?” he asked.

 

The Ghost did not reply for a long moment. “Minor damage. We should complete the mission and head to the extraction point.”

 

The Soldier looked over at the primary target. He was unconscious, lying in a very large pool of blood. The Soldier drew a pistol and shot him in the head, just to be certain. “Done. Let’s go.”

 

The Ghost looked up sharply. “What about the data we need to retrieve?”

 

The Soldier had not been briefed on this. “That is not my mission.”  

 

The Ghost huffed. “Well, it’s mine. There’s a safe behind the tapestry. Can you…”

 

The Soldier looked at where the Ghost was clearly still using the wall as support, then the medieval tapestry behind the desk, now with a bright arc of red across the lower half. He moved it aside, and there was a safe. He placed his metal hand on it, palm flat, and holstered his pistol to use his flesh hand to turn the dial.  _ Click _ . Aha, he thought. The hand was sensitive enough to pick up the combination.

 

He had it open in under a minute. Inside was a collection of passports and similar documents, a few bundles of different currencies, and an external drive for a computer. The Soldier picked it up, showing it to the Ghost. “This it?”

 

The Ghost nodded once but did not speak.

 

The Soldier frowned, behind his mask. If the Ghost was this damaged, either the wound was significantly more serious than it appeared or the Ghost had entered this mission already compromised physically. Neither option is a situation the Soldier is happy about. He tucks the drive into his vest and closes the safe, letting the tapestry fall back into place. He walked over to the Ghost.

 

“Lean on me.”

 

The alien laugh sounded again, sharp and bitter. “I’m not sure I’m solid enough for it to make a difference.” 

 

Nonetheless, the Ghost did drape a small arm around the Soldier’s waist, still leaving easy access to his guns, and leaned a surprisingly small weight against him. The Ghost barely came up to his shoulder, and the Soldier looked down, for some reason expecting to see blond hair instead of the white suit.

 

They moved out of the room and back up the stairs. The Ghost flickered out a few times, but managed to regain solid form again quickly enough that the Soldier could still catch the stumble. It took them unacceptably long to get to the roof--almost two minutes--but the Soldier was not going to abandon a teammate.

 

The jet returns as soon as they appear on the roof, dropping the rope which the Soldier reattaches to his harness. He looks at the Ghost, who has no harness.

 

“Hold on tight.”

 

A loud sigh is the only audible response, but the Ghost does step closer and wrap the uninjured arm around his neck. The Soldier’s free arm wraps around the slim waist.

 

And then they’re back in the jet, the ramp closing and the Ghost flickering rapidly.

 

“Mission status?” the pilot requests.

 

The Soldier responds automatically. “Target is eliminated; data source acquired. Ghost sustained one gunshot wound to the shoulder.” 

 

The pilot looked back over her shoulder at that. “How serious is it?” 

 

This time, the Ghost answered. “The damage to the suit disrupted the quantum stabilizers and I’m phasing too quickly to control the blood flow myself. As long as we get back to base quickly it should be fine.” 

 

The Soldier had not been briefed on quantum anything, but uncontrolled blood flow was something the Soldier had a great deal of experience. Particularly in causing it. He frowned. “Want me to look at it?” 

 

Both the pilot and the Ghost looked over at that. “Are you...do you have any medical training?” the Ghost asked with an odd twist to the voice. It took the Soldier longer than it should to recognize it as humor.

 

“I can stop the bleeding, sew it up if needed.” He wasn’t sure when he had acquired basic triage skills, but he knew he had them. 

 

The Ghost flickered twice, then slumped down onto the bench. “Sure.”

 

The Soldier removed his goggles and mask, got the first aid kit and sat down next to the Ghost, who was turned ¾ away from him, hand clutching at the shoulder almost absently. From here, he could see the bullet hole in the suit and the bright red trail that had soaked downwards from it. It was a lot of blood, but not so much as to cause immediate concern. He reached out and touched it lightly, and the Ghost winced and phased out.

 

This was probably going to be more difficult than the Soldier had thought.

 

A moment later, the Ghost phased back in. “Sorry,” came the alien voice, with a heavy gasp. “The suit damage is really much more of a problem than I had expected on my ability to hold it together.”

 

The Soldier nodded. “Take your time, Ghost.” 

 

The Ghost nodded and reached up to the neck of the suit. A moment of fumbling, a not-quite-muffled cry of pain, and the mask was twisting off. He saw dark hair pulled into a messy braid, a few escaped locks clinging to the sweaty but delicate neck.The Ghost was still turned toward the front of the plane, leaving the Soldier staring at the back of the Ghost’s head. The suit had a tab at the back, like a wet suit, and the Soldier pulled it down enough to ease the white suit off the injured shoulder. The white undershirt was also soaked in blood, but the wound was far enough to the outside that he could create a makeshift bandage without needing to cut it off. 

 

“Is there an exit wound?” He asked.

 

“Yes.” She replied. Her voice was light and lovely, even shaded with pain.

 

He did his best to get some gauze pressed up against the wound. She held still well, hissing twice with the pain. She only flickered out once before he had finished with the back.

 

He kept his head down and focused on the exit wound on the front, for some reason reluctant to look at her face. This one was easier to wrap and soon the bleeding was at least slowed. The medics would need to look at it when they got back to base, but the Soldier was no longer worried that she would bleed out before then, even if she phased in and out the whole way back.

 

He rested his hand on her shoulder lightly, his eyes still on the bandage. “There you go, all better.”

 

Her other hand covered his lightly. “Thank you.” Then the hand phased out--not the shoulder, just the hand--and moved right through his. He wondered if the tingle he felt was real or just a result of him watching her hand pass through his. 

 

He knew his face was contorted into an expression it hasn’t shown in decades: wonder. He’s not sure if he’s ever worn this expression, but the muscles pull in familiar ways, so he probably has. “How’d you do that?”

 

A rich feminine laugh answered him. “Do you believe in magic?”

 

He didn’t. “No. Do you?” He looked up.

 

She laughed, pushing the hair behind her ear. “No.”

 

Pain was tensing her forehead, but it didn’t conceal her eyes and the faint freckles on her cheeks. She has a beautiful face.

 

He forgets it all in the Chair.

 

\------------

  **3.  
**

 

The third mission, they go undercover.

 

He’s told he’ll be working with an operative he has worked with before but the mission details had been redacted. This made sense to the Soldier and explained why he didn’t remember the woman, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wide green eyes ringed with knowledge and pain. 

 

They were going to pose as a couple; she would get “sick” suddenly, necessitating them to use the otherwise inaccessible office to rest, and from there eliminate two targets. A simple plan with plenty of room for error. The Soldier wasn’t entirely sure why he had been selected for a mission like this one, as subterfuge was not one of his most notable skills, but he reasoned it was a good idea to keep his skills sharp in all areas.

 

The Soldier is unaccustomed to wearing civilian clothes. There are not enough places for him to stash weapons inconspicuously, and he has only four knives on his person. He does not like the way the jeans do not provide enough give for certain moves he considers trademark Winter Soldier. He does not like the way the baggy sweatshirt catches on the metal arm or the way the leather gloves cling to his wrists. The woman, however, looks comfortable in her jeans and tunic top, a pistol easily concealed at the small of her back.

 

They wait in the line outside the building, buy tickets for the tour. He thinks he should put an arm around her to enhance their image as a couple, but he finds himself reluctant to do so as if worried she would disappear at his touch. Instead he stands inside her personal space and glares at any man who looks at them.

 

Just as planned, about a third of the way into the tour, she caught his eye and he nodded. Then he must have blinked because she was suddenly laying on the ground, giving a short cry of pain as she clutched at her ankle. 

 

The tour guide noticed immediately that the Soldier was crouched next to the woman. “Everything ok here?” 

 

The Soldier spoke. “My fiance twisted her ankle on the stairs. We just need to sit for a moment, maybe elevate it with some ice.” With that, the Soldier scooped the woman into his arms and nudged the office door with his shoulder to open it. The tour guide opened his mouth--probably to object to them entering the room--and then closed it again as the Soldier looked at him cooly. 

 

“I’ll have one of the PA’s bring up some ice and whatever else you need.” The tour guide backed away quickly and tried to distract the other curious members of the group, but he left the office door open. 

 

The Soldier huffed at the open door, but he couldn’t very well close it immediately without arousing suspicion. He set the woman on the soft leather couch and perched on the edge of it, pretending to look at her ankle. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the teenagers from their tour group lingering in the doorway. She probably thought the injury was a lot more exciting than a history lecture, the Soldier thought. But it was an opportunity. 

 

The Soldier looked up at the woman and brought a hand up to cup her cheek. Her flinch of surprise was perceptible to the Soldier but not from the doorway.

 

“Trust me,” he whispered, not sure if it was a command or a question. Either way, the woman gave a slight nod as she maintained eye contact.

 

Out of the corner his eye, he could see the teenager still standing in the doorway. The Soldier leaned forward and pressed his lips to the woman’s, pulling her carefully against him. 

 

He wasn’t sure if the gasp came from the girl in the doorway, the woman, or himself, but it was definitely audible. He heard the girl grab the doorknob and pull the door closed to give them some privacy--his goal--and he gave himself the precious few seconds before he heard the door latch to just enjoy the kiss, close-mouthed but surprisingly electric nonetheless.

 

He couldn’t remember ever kissing someone, but he clearly had muscle memory of it.

 

The moment the door lock clicked, he fell forward because the woman was suddenly…not there anymore. 

 

And then she was. The hands that had been on her shoulders were now more on her chest, and now it was his turn to flinch and move them quickly. He looked at her face. “Are you…” he wasn’t sure what he was going to ask. Hurt? Angry? Here?

 

She nodded, a wild look in her eyes. “Yeah, it’s fine.” 

 

He kept looking at her face for a very long moment. Eventually, he glanced over her head at the bookshelf behind her. “What was the book that opened the secret passage?” he asked, mostly to break the quiet that was heavier than a mission needed. He remembered the name of the book just fine. 

 

She looked over her shoulder as well. “Paradise Lost.” Her right hand came up absently to cover his where it rested on her left shoulder; he wondered if she knew she was doing it.

 

“Alright, let’s get in and kill--” the Soldier stopped as he heard a noise outside the door. She flickered once, or maybe he blinked, and then her hand was off of his and instead wrapped around his neck, pulling him in as she arched her back. He felt her unholster the gun from her back at the same time she opened her mouth against his, and somehow the combination of those two actions sent a surge of lust through him. He kissed back hungrily, aware of the door opening and two figures entering the room, larger than the teenager from before. Security, he assumed. He acted like he didn’t know they were there, just continuing to kiss the woman and using his body to shield their view of his right hand, which was now holding a knife. 

 

They were still ten feet behind him when the Soldier fell forward again as the woman disappeared. 

 

No, not disappeared; dematerialized straight through him, reappearing standing behind him, the silenced gun letting a quiet ‘pew pew’ as she fired two shots.

 

Bucky whipped around and buried his knife in the neck of the third. He stood up, looked at her where she stood with her arm still extended. “Nice shot.”

 

She looked at the man he had killed. “You too.” 

 

Their eyes locked and only broke when she flickered. It was enough to break the spell, though. 

 

“Paradise Lost, eh?” He moved to the bookshelf, pressing fingers against the spines carefully before pulling the book out three inches. The wall next to him made a soft snick and popped out a few inches. He palmed another knife then pulled the door open. “After you.” 

 

He caught the faintest scent of lime blossoms and gunpowder as she brushed past him.

 

The rest of the mission went off without a hitch.

 

\------------

  **4.**

 

The fourth mission, they almost fail. 

 

Their target this time had a protection detail far more effective than he’d expected and now the Soldier was involved in a high speed car chase outside of Odessa with the Ghost hanging out the window firing at the tires on the car. It’s not doing any good, so he speeds up. “Get back in!” He shouts at her and waits until she’s back inside the car before he nudges the front corner of his car against the back corner of theirs. The protection detail--a small red-haired woman in a leather jacket--has clearly been trained on evasive driving, though, because she nudges back with a sharp enough turn he has to pull back temporarily or risk losing control of the car. 

 

It’s unsurprising, given how well she’s already evaded their attack, but it still makes him curse aloud in Russian. The windshield is covered in cracks from the bullet holes and the dust from the road is not helping the visibility, but he thinks he sees a curve ahead in the distance.

 

The Ghost looks over at him assessingly. “Get the car next to theirs, I’ll phase over,” she says. The Soldier doesn’t think this is a good idea, but he doesn’t have a better one, so he pulls up parallel, one hand on the wheel and the other on his gun. The Ghost leans back out the window, flickers, and is gone.

 

He pulls the car back just a bit and he can see the Ghost and the woman fighting as the car swerves all over the road. The target keeps his head down, though, so the Soldier aims at the tires instead. He catches one just as the Ghost does something that causes the red-head to turn the car sharply to the left, and then the Soldier slams on the brakes as time slows. The Ghost lands on the windshield of his car, for once substantial enough to take damage from the hit, and the other car careens off the side of the road into a deep ditch at least ten meters deep.

 

As soon as the car stops moving, he’s out. He knows he needs to go check on the target, but he pauses next to the Ghost. She’s wincing, pushing herself up on the hood. “Go! If they--if we fail--” 

 

The Soldier knows. He goes.

 

At the edge of the ditch, he holds his metal hand to block the bullet aimed for his head. He crouches down, using the damaged guardrail as cover while he assesses the situation. The target is halfway out of the backseat of the car, the angle of his leg indicating a broken leg. The woman is covering him with her body, arm still extended with the gun ready. 

 

Options: 

 

  1. Shoot the gas tank on the car, causing an explosion. Problems: Fatalities not guaranteed, although highly likely. Car angled improperly for a shot from this angle to be effective.
  2. Walk down, pull the woman off, and shoot the target. Problems: She learned quickly; she would probably go for his legs, and the angle of the ditch meant he could not cover his legs effectively from below.
  3. Shoot through her. Problems: Damage to woman, potentially fatal.



 

The Soldier shook himself. Why was that a problem, exactly? 

 

He took a moment to plot his trajectory, then stood up and fired. He heard the twin shouts of pain, then panicked silence. He knew his shot had been good. He stood and returned to the car.

 

The Ghost was still on the hood, clutching her side, flickering in and out of solidity like a candle surrounded by moths. He reached out to lift her off, but he couldn’t get a grip--she couldn’t seem to maintain solidity long enough for him to touch her. 

 

“Just….drive.” She said after a moment, gritting her teeth. 

 

The Soldier blinked once, then got in the car, craning his neck to see around her flickering form. He could. He started the car, drove off, keeping the speed slow and even.

 

After about four minutes, the flickering was still fast but more patterned, as if she was getting it under her own control. Still, he flinched slightly when she flickered out and appeared a split-second later sprawled half across the passenger seat and half across the armrest. She groaned, resting her head on his shoulder for just a moment. 

 

The contact felt good, even through her mask and his tac gear.

 

And then she flickered again, slipping right through him into the back seat where she sprawled out.

 

The Soldier had not been worried before, because he had seen her struggle to maintain form outside of a fight, but the way she clutched at her ribs and kept slipping through space was making him worried now. 

 

“Ghost, status.” He said it flatly, eying her in the rearview mirror.

 

She didn’t respond.

 

“Status, now.” He kept his voice level but suspected she could hear the worry in his voice, although she might not identify it as such.

 

“Need...need to get back. I’m not...I should be able to control it, but I can’t.” 

 

The Soldier stepped on the gas. 

 

When they reached their extraction point, she had managed to keep from slipping into the trunk or out of the car entirely, but she was curled up tightly like she had internal injuries. Her eyes were not focusing properly--concussion, probably, which might explain the difficulty controlling the phasing. 

 

The med techs carried her off in a strange stretcher, more of a chamber really, that reminded him of an illustration in a children’s story, a princess asleep and clutching a rose in her hand. Where had the Winter Soldier seen a thing like that? Charcoal smudges on thin hands, a weak voice asking for him to read it just one more time, a loud cough that went on for far too long, worry squeezing his heart.

 

He shook his head and the moment vanished. He would report the malfunction to the technicians after debriefing.

 

\-------------

  **5.**

 

The fifth mission, she saved him.

 

He thought he was on a solo mission, to eliminate a mid-level but thorny government official in a country whose name he couldn’t remember somewhere in eastern Europe. He thought he would be able to take him out on his morning jog around the estate with a sniper rifle. No need for collateral of any kind, practically no risk of discovery. It seemed almost laughably easy.

 

Of course, once he actually approached the grounds and saw the perimeter controls, he revised his opinion slightly. However, a carefully-placed electrical short and he was through, and once he made it up into the trees he could easily move between them to find a solid position to wait.

 

As planned, he noted the figure jogging just after dawn, and as planned, he felled him from well over a half-mile away. Not as he’d planned, however, he placed a foot wrong on his way to the exit and suddenly there were alarms blaring and some barking in the distance.

 

The Soldier really, really hated dogs.

 

Since the alarms were already tripped, he abandoned stealth and sprinted for edge of the estate near where his getaway vehicle was hidden. He climbed the five-meter wall quickly and dropped to the ground below it with barely a grunt. 

 

He felt a gun press against his temple before he could stand up. “Don’t move.”

 

They’d been waiting for him. 

 

The Soldier didn’t move but used his peripheral vision and enhanced hearing to determine that there were four individuals, only one within striking distance.  He would have to be careful to block the other three’s bullets until he could get closer. He took a slow breath and was just about to begin the spin when he heard the sound of a punch behind him, an impact. He ducked--just in time, as the gun that had been pointed at his head fired as something knocked the man, hard. He caught flashes of white whipping around the area and re-engaging the three individuals from before while the Soldier slit the neck of the man who had been holding the gun to his temple, kicking the gun away even as he went over to where his help was quite clearly unnecessary. The other three guards were down, a figure dressed all in white standing over them.

 

The figure turned to the Soldier and he heard what was clearly a modulated voice address him. “Finally, payback.” 

 

The Soldier did not have any context for who was being paid, or for what. He waited, knife in hand. 

 

The person seemed to be waiting for a response, and the silence grew heavier as he gave none. Eventually, the figure spoke again, the modulation mostly covering the confusion. “You don’t...don’t you…” the head tilted back to center. “Of course. You’ve been recalibrated. Call me Ghost.” 

 

The Soldier was recalibrated before every mission. It was standard procedure. He didn’t know why this would be a surprise, or why this person knew about his recalibration procedures at all. “Who sent you?” He demanded.

 

“Your backup. Looks like you needed it, for once.” The Ghost gestured at the three bodies at their feet. 

 

The Soldier growled. “Your interference was unnecessary.”

 

That seemed to cause a reaction. “Unnec--you know what, fine. You keep thinking that if you want to.” 

 

The dogs barked--still on the other side of the wall, but getting closer.  That seemed to be enough to spur the Ghost back into action. “The bike’s over there. Let’s go.” 

 

Reluctantly, the Soldier turned his back on the Ghost as he threw his leg over the bike. He jerked when he felt hands on his shoulder, the Ghost sliding onto the bike behind him. Ghost held onto his shoulders lightly and moved with him on the bike, but he still felt like his lungs couldn’t get enough air the entire ride back. 

 

When he pulled the bike into the suburban garage they were using as a staging point for this mission, he put distance between himself and the Ghost as quickly as possible, unsure why he felt so strange having his backup pressed against him for the hour it had taken to get back. 

 

The Ghost looked at him for a long time, then reached up and pulled off the mask. The Ghost was a young woman, objectively beautiful and sporting a strange smile, both pensive and sad. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

 

The Soldier didn’t say anything. She nodded once, smile turning fully sad. She reached out and pressed her hand to his cheek. It was warm and dry. Solid. He leaned into it without knowing why.

 

“I’ll be seeing you, Soldier.” She leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Then she vanished, leaving only a ghost of her lips on his cheek.

 

\-----------

**+1**

The first time Bucky was in San Francisco, he thought he saw a ghost. 

 

It was two months after Project Insight had crashed and burned in the most spectacular and literal of ways. Bucky was walking around near the wharf, keeping a low profile, as was profoundly easy in a city like San Francisco if you were willing to present yourself as homeless. He’d been planning to stay for a week, collecting information and waiting for his falsified documents so he could slip over the border.

 

He saw a woman in the distance and flinched, unsure why her walk struck a nerve. She flickered--no, he must have blinked. He crossed the street so he could observe her with less chance of her noticing, and he saw her grab at the brick wall momentarily for support. Her eyes opened and he was struck by their color.

 

He remembered that face. He remembered her white suit, her ability to flicker in and out of existence not-entirely-at-will. He remembered the scent of lime blossoms and gunpowder, the press of her lips against his. He remembered fighting at her side, seeing her turn enemies to jelly. 

 

He didn’t know if she had been truly Hydra or brainwashed like he had been. He didn’t know if she was in contact with anyone from that world anymore. It didn’t matter. He turned down the first street he found and kept walking, all the way to the highway where he hitched a ride out of town. 


End file.
